


The Finish Line

by being_whovian



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_whovian/pseuds/being_whovian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d always had a way of dealing with the loss of his companions, but this time his state of mourning took a more human approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Finish Line

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: So I use spotify and it must hate me because it’s given me such emotional hurtful songs now! I think it knows Clara is going to leave Twelve soon!!

_“What have I done?”_ he whispered into the deadly quiet of his TARDIS, his fingers so close to her skin, yet never touching it, scared that she’d disappear. _“What have I done to you, Clara Oswald?”_

She was still breathing, albeit faint and quiet. Oh so shallow, her eyes closed softly, her dark long eyelashes spread perfectly over her cheek bones. He took a deep breath, his fingers twitching uncomfortably, still hovering, his other hand clutching tightly onto to edge of her bed.

He found himself unable to leave her side, just hoping she’d come back to him. Open those large brown eyes and smile up at him, but there was a voice inside of his head instilling unbearable amounts of doubt and he couldn’t shake it. His eyes briefly moved to her neck, the unforgiving purple spots, spoiling her soft skin as the poison got to work, ruining her from the inside out.

He’d tried everything. He’d tried every cure, every antidote, everything he had in his TARDIS, yet the poison was to strong, spreading slowly yet fighting the invading liquids quickly, becoming immune in time unimaginable.

He couldn’t save her. As much as he wished he could, there was nothing. Nothing he had could save her and that hurt more than anything else. Just knowing she was going to die because of him forgetting who he was for a split second.

He should have recognised the planet. He could have stepped in front of her, taking the shot himself. He should have recognised that the natives of the planet were less kind to people trespassing on their soil. They dressed in Veracap skin; a dark midnight blue colour and bows made from the strongest wood and arrow tips laced with the deadly Corpsio Poison, with no known cure. The natives immune themselves after the many millions of years occupying the planet.

He was glad that he seemed to be pulled to the spot next to her, fear setting in the pit of his stomach. He wished he could do something, transfer the poison from her to himself, anything just to keep her with him.

_“Oh Clara,”_ he started, his voice so hushed he was sure she couldn’t have heard, yet if he spoke up he was sure his voice would break and the tears building in the corners of his eyes would spill over. He couldn’t let that happen. Not now. He bowed his head, his fingers still so close, his eyes still watching as the purple spots raised, pulling up the veins as they went and turning the unabused skin red and pulling taught. _“It’s my fault. I should have known.”_ he mumbled, watching as the corners of her bluing lips twitched. His breath hitched. He longed to see her smile again. He longed to hear her laugh.

He watched for minutes more as her chest began to rise and fall less frequently, her fingers twitching less and less and her skin once so soft covered in severe purple spots and red raw. He took in a deep breath, his lungs straining to fill. He wished for her eyes to open but alas they could no more. He wished just to hear her breath but alas she could no more.

He never thought she’d die. No matter how many people had told him she’d leave or she’d disappear like smoke… He’d argued with himself for so long telling himself she’d never leave without a fight and yet… her body had given up long before its time.

He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling and odd constricting feeling in his chest, his hearts clenching so tightly and his stomach twisting so tightly he felt sick. The lump in his throat began to appear, as he strained himself… willed himself not to cry.

His Clara had died. Had died a… normal death as it were, yet to the hands of a hideous alien race. An alien race he hadn’t expected to still live on the planet. He swallowed, opening his blurry, tear filled eyes, just staring down at her body. Her small, thin body.

She looked peaceful despite her pain. He raised a hand, his fingers trembling as he brushed over her hair, letting his fingers glide through it. He flinched every time his fingertips touched the skin of her neck, the heat due to the poison burning him.

He couldn’t bare it much longer. He couldn’t keep his emotions at bay.

He cried. He kelt down beside her bed unable to stand, his knees about to give way as his tears poured and his pain radiated from him in waves.

She’d always said she’d do something incredible. That she’d die in some extraordinary way. She’d said _**“It’s the only way I’ll go. If it’s something extraordinary.”**_ and he’d believed it, yet of course he’d never have let that happen.

However… one mistake and one moment had destroyed both him and Clara. A devastating blow that had ruined him and cost her her life. Her life that was something fantastic and… impossible.

***

By-standers had noticed him. Dressed in a long black coat and his odd tartan styled trousers, standing in the rain beside a gravestone. Four months to the day and he’d never failed to disappoint them, with his precarious blue box sitting outside the cemetery and one white flower that looked new and different.

He’d stand there for many hours, lay down his single lone flower and then push his hands in his pockets, staring his lips moving yet no words leaving them. At least not to those who see.

He speaks to her. He tries to make sense of what happened. He tries to reconcile himself. He tries to help himself, however he can’t seem to shake the guilt. He can’t seem to move on. He never thought he’d have to, after all he had lost he thought in her extraordinary way she’d still be here. She should still be her.

He’d sigh, step back and make his way back to his box, ignoring the stares and hushed words as he did so. He’d come to pay his respects. Speak to his best friend and tell her… all to late that he did love her. He loved her more than anything else and he’d have done anything to save her if he’d known how. He’d come to try and say a final goodbye, however he always steers himself away.

He’d then disappear and the people would wait for the next day he’d appear.

***

Today he’d taken a different approach to mourning her. His Clara. He’d made his way towards the church where Clara’s funeral had taken place, to keep himself in the warmth, to light a candle for her as everyone else seemed to do for their loved ones. He’d never done such human things. He’d never mourned in such a way before, but Clara was different.

He'd picked up a candle with shaking hands, tilting the wick towards one that was already burning brightly, wiping his eyes with his free hand, before placing the candle back in its place.

_“Rest easy… my Impossible Girl.”_ he whispered, before turning and leaving the church.

He ran away. As he’d said he would. He ran and he ran until he could run no more… because the pain was so extreme… he could hardly breath.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this made sense even if only a little bit haha! Please leave kudos and a comment its always greatly appreciated :) x


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